


His name was Hux

by gmw



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: as much as he likes to deny it hux still isn't over it, brendol was a shitty father who broke hux, he doesn't use his first name for a reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmw/pseuds/gmw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on the anon prompt: "hux flinches every time he is called armitage bcs he associates this name with nothing but pain of his childhood".</p>
    </blockquote>





	His name was Hux

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the anon prompt: "hux flinches every time he is called armitage bcs he associates this name with nothing but pain of his childhood".

Crimson flames filled his lungs, oxygen abandoning him, chest closing in tighter. Blood spilling across his tongue, jaw clenched relentlessly. Muscles clenching, frozen, temperature and life betraying them as the small arches buried deep in his palms began pathetically dribbling scarlet trails across his grey-hued skin. The rising sensation of nausea and the searing burns dancing across his waterline forced him back, stumbling.

His name was Hux.

Isolating himself from the living, he retreated, a recluse. Vision and hearing disappeared alongside. Edges eagerly mimicked night while noise, the cruel noise, blurred incoherently. Mocking numbness stole his body from him. Inside he was empty, he was hollow, he was dead.  
Had he forgotten how to breathe?  
So useless he couldn’t even carry out the mundane task of living.  
Worthless.

His name was Hux.

Stomach provoking him, a lurch forward, he remembered. He remembered the floor crumbling beneath. He remembered watching the only proof his existence meant anything, the only proof that he had worth fall from him, beyond his control.  
The pang of pain, across his barren heart, as he realised this was the end.  
Once again, once more, he was worthless.

His name was Hux.

Biting back the tears, his face stung in memory. A hand. A belt. A fist. He was not allowed to cry.  
Ricocheting echoes through his mind awoke a pain that spread unchallenged.  
A small hand being slapped away, desperate attempts for comfort beaten away as he cried.

Volumes of anger and disappointment the only family he ever had.

Forced into perfection, expectations drowning him below dissatisfaction, defeat, discontent.  
Disappointment.

He can’t recall ever being able to breathe; breath held, scoring his soul, every time his father walked past.  
Don’t breathe. Don’t move. Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch. Don’t disappoint. Don’t flinch. Don’t cry. Don’t ever move.

There was never any room for mistakes, he had grown accustomed to that. Never room for love, for care, for weakness. He had one purpose and he had failed.

He knew what happened when he failed.

His name was Hux.

Limbs shaking, chest heaving he found himself upon the floor, flinching at the hands reaching for him.  
Hands hurt, they always hurt, never helped. Only a reminder he was useless.

Disappointment gleaming into anger in his father’s eyes: he was sent away.

Flashes of banners, heroes, pain. He couldn’t recall much. He tried not to.

Timelines blurred, how old was he? 7? 10?

5?

Every departure left him with a deeper gash, a wound waiting to be opened by his inevitable failure and father’s eyes.

He was no longer human, sitting shaking upon the floor, he was nothing but scar tissue.

His name was Hux.

Hearing betraying, he didn’t know who spoke.

Who slipped.  
Who made the mistake of speaking _it_.  
The unspeakable, the hidden, the buried, the damned.

Mistakes were met with punishments. With fists and bruised cheeks. Black eyes. Bloody noses. Mistakes were met with crippling failure, disappointment, worthlessness. Mistakes were met with never ending nausea of inadequacy, the fear of being left to wither, the burning tears and numbness inside, the wish for death and fear of dying, the driving spite to prove wrong, the emptiness in the face of empathy, the pain, the bruises, the warped mind, the lies and slander and the propaganda, the ruthless training and all-consuming blaming.

Mistakes were met with punishments and by god, was Hux well-acquainted.

He learnt not to falter.

Yet, here he sits, collapsed, in the face of his biggest mistake.

He was no longer Hux.

 

His name, is Armitage.

**Author's Note:**

> hux's life is heart-breaking and i am incredibly sad about all this [not the name, just the whole "weak-willed" and "thin as a strip of paper and just as useless" thing] i will willing deck brendol for hurting hux so badly  
> anyway, come mope with me on [tumblr](http://g-m-w.tumblr.com) if you want


End file.
